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It happens pretty often that I’ll be reading some blog or other and someone will mention that they had a beer, or wine. Or I’ll be at someone’s house and they’ll have a drink, when we’re just sitting there talking or playing a game. Or whatever. And it always jars me.

I don’t drink alcohol, for two reasons. One is that I’m on meds that lead to badness when combined with it; I like my kidneys functioning, thanks ever so, and intend to keep “renal failure” a phrase that applies only to other people. The other is, I just don’t like the stuff and never have. It tastes rotten to me.

This makes me feel like I’m missing out on something. Like alcohol is just something grownups are supposed to do; since I don’t do it, I’m not a grownup.

Saturday morning the last dream I had, thus the one I remember, included trying to clear my throat and not being able to. When I woke up, the heavy feeling didn’t go away. I spent yesterday coughing periodically. This morning, I’m still feeling like there’s a weight on my chest.

I don’t feel sick any other way, but it looks like I’ve managed to get bronchitis again, probably because it was chilly and damp all last week. Which means that my hopes of making my biking goal this year are officially blasted; I’m going to have to give up on the bike unless the weather’s much better than it’s likely to be.

I’m staying home today in the vague hope of cutting things off at the pass, but I doubt it’s likely.